


Balter

by Alphabees



Series: Words Less Spoken By [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dalton Academy, KBWeek 2020, Kurtbastian Week, M/M, Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly, Not Canon Compliant, That's right bitches we're back, not beta read we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27492418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphabees/pseuds/Alphabees
Summary: Balter - To dance gracelessly, but with enjoyment.[For KBWeek 2020 - Dalton]
Relationships: Kurt Hummel/Sebastian Smythe
Series: Words Less Spoken By [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587718
Comments: 14
Kudos: 66
Collections: Kurtbastian Week 2020





	Balter

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to embo-gleek on Tumblr for prompting this FOREVER ago, and thank you to Kurtbastian Week for getting me up off my ass and forcing me to finish it!!!
> 
> Also, to preface - if you get halfway through this piece and think "hold on, there's a gap between this and the last instalment," that's deliberate! I believe I've explained this elsewhere, but while this series is a set of linear instalments, they aren't being written or posted in chronological order. For example, I already have one instalment in mind that takes place between this, and Pyrrhic. Anywho, happy reading!

Kurt isn’t sure why he agreed to this. 

Striking up a rocky, tenuous friendship with Sebastian Smythe after he dislocated a classmate’s elbow and bloodied the nose of a friend was the last way he would have guessed it might happen. Then again, he never would have considered it happening, period.

He hadn’t been counting on a ‘boys night out’ to Scandals, either but here he is, sitting at the bar and resisting the temptation to eat any of his  _ extra cherries.  _ They’re doing a terrible job as a punchline - all three of them - but the Shirley Temple itself, he must begrudgingly admit, isn’t half-bad. Apparently, that’s all he gets for volunteering himself as the night’s designated driver: a petty joke and a free drink, swirling around in a glass. 

He’s watching a specific strip of paint that’s peeling behind the bar, because it wiggles every time the bartender walks past it, hoping that it doesn’t actually fall off any time soon. If it does, he’ll be left with nothing to watch but the dancefloor behind him, and he’s been outright refusing to do that since Blaine tugged Sebastian onto the dancefloor. 

Dancing sounds like it could be fun, but he can’t bring himself to stand. Kurt and Blaine are friends and he shares a sort of mutual respect with Sebastian, but he’s been in a foul mood since he pulled out of his parking spot at Dalton. As such, he’s been firmly planted to his barstool since the bouncer hesitantly accepted their fake IDs. Frankly, he’s a little offended that anybody could look at him and honestly think his name is  _ Chaz. _ _   
_ __   
Maybe he should have turned down the offer as soon as he saw his shoddy excuse for a fake, but for some reason, he kept it.

As Kurt twirls his straw between his fingertips, he tries to ignore how pathetic he feels, because he knows exactly what that reason is.

The harsh reality of it is that, by the time his junior year began, he had long since learned his duties for a ‘boys night’, and they were simple enough to follow: don’t attend, and don’t intrude. Nobody has to say it, and with the exception of Finn or Sam, occasionally, nobody contests it. Kurt’s been getting the same look for years every time he’s been in the room when those plans get made. When Sebastian stopped him and Blaine after that week’s rehearsal and said, point-blank, that they were having a ‘boys night’ he couldn’t turn it down. 

The shock of it being worded that way, he thinks, must have blind-sided him. Kurt has friends back at Dalton who include him plentifully, with which he could be making far better use of his time by now - but Sebastian’s offer had an inexplicable allure to it.

Not that it could possibly have anything to do with Sebastian himself. 

No, it must have been Scandals. That’s what convinced him - the intrigue, all the secrets of adulthood hiding behind flaking paint, between dusty bottles. It’s the mystique of a place the powers that be say he isn’t allowed to enter until he’s 21. It’s the bartender who, after a furtive glance around the room, picks up an ice cube that’s fallen on the floor and puts it into somebody’s glass anyway... Never mind. 21st birthday be damned, Kurt won’t be returning even then.

Blaine. That’s why he’s here, Kurt remembers, as he risks a glance over his shoulder. He came for Blaine, because he had been particularly enthusiastic about all three of them going together, which was… Odd, to say the least.

Kurt forgave Sebastian first after their little talk, and Blaine made him feel like dirt about it for days. Then all of a sudden, as though somebody flipped a switch, Blaine started hanging off of Sebastian’s every word and laughing at all his jokes as though that was the norm. Then came the denial - whenever Kurt tries to question that sudden change, Blaine acts like he’s making it up. As a result, he’s beginning to worry. One of them is hiding something, or maybe it’s both of them - either way, he plans to get to the bottom of it.

Blaine has had exactly two drinks by Kurt’s count, and yet he’s dancing like he’s had twenty. It’s sloppy, but Kurt can pick out a few familiar moves from the most recent Warbler number and… A *lot* of his signature spins. It seems like they’re not quite as interesting when they’re all in a row like that, because he’s running out of other ideas. Maybe it’s a good thing for him to blow off a little steam, it might make him less confusing in the days to come.

Sebastian’s dancing near him, but not near enough to be dancing *with* him. Surprisingly, he doesn’t look all that into it, even though the whole thing was supposedly his idea. He has the rhythm and the ability for more than a half-hearted shuffle, Kurt knows that, and so he squints as if that will get the surreal evening to start making sense. 

Then they make eye contact. Whoops.

Kurt watches in abject horror as Sebastian raises one arm over his head, moving it in a slow circle.

_ Oh god. _

Then another.

_ Oh no. _

Then once more.

_ Please don’t. _

Sebastian’s fist opens, and despite his silent begging, Kurt is caught up in his invisible lasso of dance.

_ Bastard. _

Kurt shakes his head as Sebastian mimes his first tug. His head turns in a broad, sweeping movement, and he knows Sebastian can see exactly what he’s doing. 

Even so, he tugs again, this time with a smug grin. It’s so presumptuous, Kurt has half a mind to walk over there to give him a piece of it. Too bad that’s exactly what Sebastian wants, which means it can’t happen.

Kurt schools his features into a blank, unimpressed state, although the whoops and hollers from the other people he’s drawn attention from make that difficult. They’re all in such good spirits - it’s infectious. So is cholera. He’s not buying into it.

Sebastian’s really throwing himself into the art of mime now, and Kurt wonders if it’s a French thing. Are mime tendencies genetic, or are they absorbed like radiation given off from the Eiffel Tower? Kurt snorts.

(It’s his own hilarious, snarky thoughts that make him do so, obviously. It has nothing to do with Sebastian, or the mischievous glint in his eye, or the way Kurt’s never seen somebody stare at him like that for so long without laughing at him. Instead, Sebastian’s making himself a spectacle for  _ Kurt _ to laugh at.)

When he gets to the point of getting a leg involved, acting like he’s pushing his foot against something for the extra leverage he needs to reel Kurt in, Kurt honestly feels bad for him. He’s not the only one.

“Just dance with him,” says a gruff, yet sympathetic voice. “He’s going to burst a blood vessel if he keeps that up.”

Kurt yelps in surprise - but despite the bartender almost giving Kurt a heart attack from over his shoulder, he has a point. 

He’s trying so hard.

Kurt rolls his eyes as he gets up. There’s no need for him to give anybody else the impression that Sebastian’s antics amuse him. 

Sebastian seems to forget about his imaginary rope with the shock of Kurt actually giving in. He stares for a beat, until Kurt gestures for him to carry on. He’s not just going to just  _ walk _ over there. If Sebastian’s going to force him out onto the dancefloor, he’s got to put the effort in the whole way.

When Sebastian pulls, he follows - one hop, and then another, and by the third Kurt’s realised it’s all happening to the melody. Donna Summer’s  _ Hot Stuff  _ is the soundtrack to his embarrassment. There are much worse songs to be a fool to, he thinks - and the beat inspires him to give each step a little flair. Once he reaches the edge of the dancefloor he throws in a shimmy.

(The way Sebastian laughs and grins is completely drowned out by the music. That’s the only reason he does it again. The music.)

Kurt finally reaches Sebastian only to be met with his hands resting on his shoulders, keeping him from bolting. 

(It would be awkward to bolt, which is why he doesn’t even try. The warmth in Sebastian’s fingertips is wholly irrelevant.)

“You know, staying sober doesn’t mean you have to stay boring,” Sebastian teases. Kurt knows what he means, but it stings. He doesn’t even have to say it. “Oh-- don’t make that face. You’ve been sat on the same stool for half an hour straight! Isn’t your ass sore? They’re not comfortable.”

“Maybe you just need to grow what my friend Mercedes likes to call a church cushion,” Kurt retorts, and it makes both of them smile. 

“If you’re calling me scrawny, I resent that. Aren’t you supposed to be the nice one between us?”

(Kurt isn’t sure when they became an ‘us,’ or what Sebastian means by it, or why he’s overthinking it.)

“Aren’t  _ you  _ supposed to be the cool one? I can’t think of anything less suave than the dance-lasso.” Something about shouting over the music makes him grin. There’s a pause as Sebastian processes it before he does the same.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Sebastian asks, one smug eyebrow raised in victory. Kurt’s all set to protest it when Sebastian cuts it off with a nod down to their feet. 

Shit. Kurt’s are tapping to the rhythm, his shoulders are swaying-- when did his body start to betray him? He can’t trust anybody anymore.

“Anything for Donna Summer.” Kurt thinks that’s as good a justification as any. It’s better than admitting that he’s enjoying himself. 

Sebastian finally lets go of Kurt’s shoulders but while one hand lowers to his side, the other stays extended between them.

“Even a dance with me?”

He’s never been asked that before. Kurt’s heart flutters and his lips part; he searches Sebastian’s eyes for a sign of insincerity but all he finds is playful glints of green.

(It’s the allure of new experiences - not Sebastian. Never Sebastian.)

Kurt straightens his back, puffs out his chest, and repeats himself: “anything for Donna Summer.”

Kurt sets his hand on Sebastian’s.

(There’s a new experience.)

It’s good that Sebastian only holds onto it to sweep him through a spin - he lets go once Kurt reaches the 360 mark. It’s good, because if it were to last any longer, he might start to overthink the little details of it.

(Warmth. Strength. Roughness, smoothness, the size, the shape. The way they fit together. Those details.)

The way Sebastian grins at him as he starts to dance in earnest is something Kurt’s never seen on him before. It’s so free and self-indulgent, Kurt’s wrapped up in it before he even realises he’s following Sebastian’s movements, always one shimmy away. Somehow, it reminds him of watching Disney movies as a kid; it’s that moment where the villain gets their own musical number and you know that no matter how dastardly they are, you’ll always sing along. It’s the appeal of everything he’s not supposed to like.

(Those were always his favourites.)

Before too long he’s thinking less and dancing more. The dance floor isn’t all that lively, which gives them plenty of room to be stupid about it. Nobody laughs or calls him unvaried where he shakes his shoulders or winds his hips in a circle - there’s just Sebastian, doing that goofy head-wiggle he’s obsessed with, mouthing the lyrics to the chorus like it’s the last song he’ll ever hear. 

Soon (far too soon) the song starts to fade, and so do their moves. They’re both breathing a little more heavily, or at least Kurt thinks he’s not the only one - he’s stuck looking at Sebastian’s smile rather than the speed his chest rises and falls. 

There must be a theme for the night, because as soon as a wave of synth flows through the speakers, Kurt recognises it immediately.

“I love this song!” Kurt cries out, more to himself than Sebastian. It seems to stop him in his tracks anyway - Kurt grins, and Sebastian just stares at him like the cogs in his head have ground to a halt. 

“You’re not the only one,” he says eventually. Kurt hadn’t realised Sebastian was such a fan, but he’s glad for it. He certainly can’t complain when Sebastian reaches to twirl him again.

(Because it’s fun to twirl. Nothing more to it than that.)

He does have a handful of complaints in mind, however, when Sebastian sends him spinning away from him. Especially when he bumps into somebody else.

“Oh, god-- I’m so sorry--”

“Kurt!” 

(He didn’t forget Blaine was there. That’s impossible.)

“Blaine!” Kurt replies, trying to sound just as excited. That’s hard to do when your conversation partner is evidently inebriated. “Having fun?”

“Dance with me,” Blaine requests, without really answering him.

(Is it really a request when he grabs Kurt’s waist before he can respond?)

Kurt doesn’t object - he likes the song, and he likes Blaine. It feels a little odd now to jump right into it with no preamble, but it’s not like he needs that with somebody he’s known so long. Right?

_ Think less, dance more.  _ Kurt throws himself back into it as best he can.

Subconsciously, he slips into observation mode. There’s no finesse to the way he moves, but he’s still graceful. More than that, Kurt feels like he dances with emotion - however he feels, his body follows, and it’s obnoxiously mesmerising. It’s as if Kurt could really understand him if he just watches long enough. His head rolls to the beat, each step is in perfect time, and then something stomps on Kurt’s foot. That’s when he realises he should probably be watching Blaine - not Sebastian.

Stomping is definitely the right word. Blaine is far from the worst dancer Kurt knows, but a while after they first met, he confessed that most of his dance moves were picked up from music videos he came across as a child. As charming as Kurt found the image of a tiny Blaine practising his step-ball-changes over and over in front of the TV, it left something to be said for spontaneity. Originality. Flare.

(Things he could still see if he just peeks over Blaine’s shoulder again.)

“Hold on, Blaine--” Kurt blurts out, when he feels hands wandering down to his hips. It sends a nervous jolt through him; one that he might have found exhilarating a month ago. This is the kind of thing he wanted before Blaine turned him down.

“What? We’re dancing,” Blaine chuckles, as if Kurt objecting was an attempt at a joke. When Kurt reaches to move his hands back up - which feels like a fair compromise - Blaine realises he means it, and he pouts. “This is a club, Kurt! Let loose!”

Kurt isn’t sure which definition of loose he means, but he’s not chancing it. 

“That’s not very  _ platonic _ of you, Blaine,” Kurt says. There’s a reason for the way he strains the word. It’s the same way Blaine said it to him, recently enough that the memory still stings. 

“Maybe it’s not meant to be,” Blaine replies, with a smile that tells Kurt he’s trying to be charming.

(He used to be  _ so  _ charming. When did it start falling flat?)

Kurt isn’t sure how he feels. The main reason for that is, when he first arrived at Dalton, he would have given anything to know he’d have this exchange with Blaine one day. Now, it sets something crawling beneath his skin - it starts by his waist beneath Blaine’s hands, writhes towards his hips where the touch still lingers, and burts out from there. It’s uncomfortable. Kurt is uncomfortable.

“I need the bathroom,” he states, with no room for whining complaints. It takes a pointed stare for Blaine to completely let him go, and when he does, Kurt wastes no time taking his leave.

The music that was giving him life mere moments ago now floods his senses. His heart pounds to a rhythm that’s just  _ slightly  _ off, and the dissonance grows, makes his head hurt. He keeps it ducked as he stalks to the bathroom, only looking behind him once his palm is set on the door.

Sebastian and Blaine have started bickering, right there in the middle of the room.

He should’ve known the night was too good to be true.

Or maybe he never should’ve let Sebastian make him forget that.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware they're not even at Dalton, but it's my Dalton AU, and it feels VERY good to finally update it! Hopefully it feels good to read!


End file.
